As keenly as he feels the absence of phantom fingers, the missive gives Aramis new purpose, and he takes several deep breaths through his nose before letting Athos slide deeper against his tongue. He savors every pleasure that is to be found in bed, but giving it to others is by far the headiest and dearest of them all, and the discomfort as Athos' prick reaches the back of his throat is nothing compared to the thought of what it must feel like for Athos.

Aramis moans, swallowing hard, and lets Athos linger there as long as he is able, watching every heave of Athos' chest above him through slotted eyes, feasting on the strain of Porthos' arms as he holds him as if it were the oxygen his lungs are screaming for.